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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489215">Welcome to the Apocalypse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpha_Wolf14/pseuds/Alpha_Wolf14'>Alpha_Wolf14</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>No Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Character Death, End of the World, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Zombie Apocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:27:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpha_Wolf14/pseuds/Alpha_Wolf14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fin doesn't like to be to be labeled.  They aren't a label type of person.  Some may call them a survivor but how can they be a survivor if they aren't fully human?<br/>Jackson thinks labels are stupid.  He knows that no one fits into one label.  So why have them?  He's just trying to survive.  Trying to find a cure.<br/>Marcus likes labels.  Labels are safe.  Labels bring order.  He's a survivor and that's it.  He just wants to survive.  Not be a lover, friend, rival, or any other label.  To many labels is bad.</p>
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<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Finley/Jackson</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Welcome to the Apocalypse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So new thing.  I'm open to suggestions.  Have fun.  If there are any questions please ask me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jackson</p>
<hr/><p>     It was raining and cold.  Colder then it should be.  It was the middle of summer.  It shouldn't be this cold.  The living shouldn't be able to see their breath.  Water froze as it collects into puddles.  Zombies moved slowly, slightly frozen.  The city was quiet and run down.  Nothing living moved.  Not until a young man, seeming to be about twenty, steps from the cover of a broken store.  He held his bag close to his side, brushing black hair out of his green eyes, and pulling his coat closer to his muscular frame.  His strides were long and sure as he moves towards the forest.  It was clear that he was use to the city.  His destination was a run down building, with the doors and windows barricaded.  It was falling apart.  The roof sagged and had fallen in some places.  Walls were crumbling and in bad storms the up floors would shake but it was shelter and in an apocalypse shelter could be everything.  A zombie moans from down a dark alleyway and he reaches for his machetes.  The shadows lengthen as he enters the building, covering the door once he was through.  It was mostly dark, lit by a fire's dying embers.  He puts his stuff down, quickly building the first. The flickering light illuminated the room.  Two corners were piles of stacked boxes.  His bed was a few feet from the fire, the bed was a broken mattress covered in a small pile of thin blankets and a pillow.  He sits next to the fire, unpacking and sorting through his bag.  A cold breeze blows through the building and he shivers, glancing around as the wind howls.  The long lonely nights of storm where always his least favorite.  He would spend the night sitting by the fire, wrapping in multiple blankets and every layer of clothing he had but still be cold.  Winters were hard, cold was hard, loneliness was hard.  That was why when someone knocked on his door near midnight he let the person in.</p>
<hr/><p>Marcus</p>
<hr/><p>He hated the rain.  He hated the way it got everything he had wet.  He hated the way it rusted on his knives if he didn't clean them.  The sun was close to setting but maybe he wanted the zombies to take him.  Or maybe he didn't.  Most likely be was so deep in his own mind he hadn't even noticed.  What ever the cause he didn't notices that the sun was setting until it was casting long shadows on the ground.  Only then did he glances up and panic slightly.  He starts running to who knows where.  He didn't have a base of food or shelter.  He was going to die.  But he saw another young man heading somewhere and he decided to follow.  Or he followed until a zombie started chasing him and then he ran around the city with a slowly growing band of zombies following him.  Fun times.  He stops on a fire escape, gasping for breath when he noticed how cold it had gotten.  Glancing down he could see the zombies slowly freezing.</p><p> "Oh god oh god in god," he mutters, running up the fire escape, " need warmth. "</p><p>He tries to start a fire in a small corner sheltered from the wind.  But his matches where wet and ruined.  He sighs, fighting back tears as the cold comes creeping back as he cools down from running.  It starts in his finger tips, pooling in his hands before creeping up his arms.  It enters his chest, his lungs burn from the cold as it surrounds his heart.  When his breath burns in his throat he stands up, pacing, trying to get some warmth back into his body.  He heads back to where he saw the other survivor.  It was hard traveling.  It was dark, windy, and cold.  To him it felt like a few years.  But he found a building with signs of life and knocked on the door.  He could have fainted from relief when it opens.</p>
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